Alternative Alert System ‘Mothballed' Despite Benefits
The founder of an alternative alert framework says officials never gave it a look-in when they were setting up the under-fire Emergency Mobile Alert system.
The founder of an alternative emergency alert framework says officials never gave it a look-in when they were setting up the under-fire Emergency Mobile Alert system.
And he reckons his was better, proving its worth during the aftermath of the Christchurch quakes.
The National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) is investigating glitches in the current system following the magnitude 8.8 earthquake off Russia on Wednesday.
Some Kiwis say they received up to 50 alerts, while some did not receive any at all.
Matthew Nolan founded an alternative system, Readynet, which was used during the Christchurch Earthquakes and to mobilise volunteers cleaning up the Rena oil spill.
'I think that the NEMA system – which costs them the best part of $20 million – has miscued for them, and it's certainly not the first time,' he told Morning Report on Friday.
'There is a record of it waking people up at night for messages that were text messages only, and as well as circumstances where people did not get the alert that they should have got.'
NEMA spokesperson John Price told Checkpoint on Thursday there were many reasons for the differences.
'It could be different providers and different cell towers. There's a lot of possibilities, but this is something we're working through. We'll look into it, absolutely.'
Nolan criticised the NEMA system as being 'one-way' only, and unable to tell if people had actually received the message as no information was sent back.
'Whereas other systems and a better system, and yes, our system was interactive, and we could see where the messages had been received.
'So for example, you send a message out into an area where there's a big river and cell towers have been wiped out. Our system would tell you that all the people in that river have not received the message – all the people in that river valley have not received the message. You can deduct from that, that in fact, the cell phone towers are out.'
He claimed the Emergency Mobile Alert system 'can't target messages'.
'It's a modern equivalent of a World War 2 fire siren. It alerts people that something's happening and it gives them a brief message, but it can't target messages.
'So for example… people in Upper Hutt got no message. In Lower Hutt, lots of people got the message. So, you know, why is there a difference between one area and another?'
According to the NEMA website, the current system can 'broadcast to all capable phones from targeted cell towers to areas affected by serious hazards'.
'You may not receive an alert if you are out of mobile coverage, mobile phone towers are damaged, or there is a power outage.'
Price said the variation in coverage 'could be different providers and different cell towers, there's a lot of possibilities'.
Nolan suggested the system was not working as well as it could because it was now owned by 'a banking conglomerate out of New York'.
New Zealand's system was provided by Dutch company one2many, which is now a division of Everbridge Public Warning, an American software company that specialises in alert systems.
'Now, those sorts of companies are chasing the big markets, the multi-million markets, and I think New Zealand is a very small end of that market,' Nolan said. 'There is no office of that organisation in Wellington to work alongside emergency services in New Zealand…
'I think that a New Zealand-owned, developed, supported, helpdesked system is the best, and that's what we had built, and our system is now mothballed.'
He said he asked officials to look at using Readynet for the national system, but 'they never ever fully examined what we had, even though it was used during Christchurch to communicate after the Christchurch earthquake, to communicate with all the residents and contractors left inside the cordons.
'And that was, information such as, well, 'The cordon will be open on the corner of such and such street at four o'clock this afternoon to allow people in and out for shopping there.' That's the sort of stuff you can't put on Facebook.'
As of Friday morning, a tsunami advisory remained in place. Pacific nations emerged relatively unscathed.
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'Hello,' he'd say in his best nasal tone, smiling at the camera, 'Michael Hill ... (pause) jeweller.' He'd purse his lips to emphasis the 'M'. The ads were irritating, to the point where DJs would mock and impersonate him. The jeweller even tried to teach his daughter Emma to impersonate him, but no one could quite pull it off. "Hello, Michael If anyone pointed out to him how awful his ads were, Hill would laugh. He was the first to admit they were 'unbelievably boring and amateurish' and that he looked 'terrible' in those early ads. But the point was, they worked. Everyone in New Zealand knew who Michael Hill was and what he sold. And they came to buy his jewellery. In 1987, Michael Hill International listed on the NZX, buoyed by steadily increasing sales and successful shop openings. Four months later the stock market crashed, a day that became known as Black Monday (October 19). 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Hundreds of bargain hunters broke into a Canberra shopping mall at 4am, eager to get first dibs on $1 diamond rings, stock that Michael Hill International wanted to clear from a shop before displaying its own range. By the time the shop opened, 700 people were crowded outside and a woman punched a shop assistant when she was told she could only buy one ring. It took four carloads of police and the mall security guards to clear the crowd. Australians were also incensed to see a series of jewellery bargains scrolling in a TV ad, accompanied by the piercing sound of a bugle playing The Last Post. The ad caused pandemonium at the Michael Hill head office as complaints poured in, the Australian Ministry of Defence was enraged, there were bomb threats in Sydney and it made front-page news. But, as Sir Michael said at the time, 'sales went through the roof'. In his own way, he was a showman, full of ideas – often quirky - designed to make a splash. In 1988, he hired a woman, clad in a black sports bra, a striped bikini bottom and black tights to show off $450,000 worth of jewellery at the maiden annual shareholder meeting in Whangārei. Hill wasn't one for clustering his shareholders into boring meeting rooms. Instead, he'd take them for a joyride on the Waitematā Harbour, entertained by a jazz band; or a cruise to a vineyard on Waiheke Island, or to Pakatoa Island, or to the Ellerslie Racecourse. Sir Michael Hill entertained his shareholders with a jazz band on the Quickcat catamaran in 1989, with his accountant John Ryer (left) and joint managing director Howard Bretherion (right). One time his shareholders met in an aircraft hangar in Auckland's Museum of Transport and Technology (Motat). At each AGM they were usually told the joyous news that the company could expect another tax-paid profit, and that new shops were about to be added to the fast-growing chain. For the company's 10th AGM in 1997, 250 shareholders were loaded onto a train in Auckland bound for Waimauku. Hill, nattily dressed in pinstriped pants and sporting a red tie decorated with yellow worms, served bubbly and wine on the journey to his faithful followers. Again the news was good: a plan to open 100 stores and move to other countries as the market became saturated. Former Herald writer Bernadette Rae was on the train that day. As she put it: 'So many fingers to ring, so many necks to chain.' In the early 1990s, everything Michael-Hill-jeweller touched seemed to turn to gold. (He famously sold his wife's engagement rings four times after they were admired, each time replacing it with a bigger stone). Sir Michael and Lady Christine Hill at the opening of their revamped Whangārei store in 2013. Sir Michael famously sold his wife's engagement ring four times. Then came the stumble of the shoe era. He bought the assets from a Christchurch shoe company and by 1992 had added nine shoe shops to his 41 jewellery stores. The trouble was they not only didn't make money, they lost money, a lot. By 1994 all nine shoe stores had closed and 'Michael Hill ... cobbler' was no more. He later acknowledged that the foray into shoes was a 'disaster' and that the company needed to stick to jewellery and watches. Undeterred by the footwear trip-up, the group continued to expand. Well on his way to saturating the Australian market, Hill based his family in Queensland's Sanctuary Cove in the mid 1990s, with his launch Rough Diamond parked at the back door. 'A wimpy thing to do' He couldn't understand why more people didn't want to get into retail. By 2009, he had 250 stores in New Zealand, Australia and Canada, opening new stores so fast he couldn't find enough staff to fill them. He was puzzled why Kiwis were willing to work in hospitality but thought a male working in a jewellery shop was a 'wimpy, poncy thing to do'. So he wrote Toughen Up (the proceeds of which went to Cure Kids) as a recruitment tool. He told me during an interview that his CEO earned three, possibly four, times more than the (then) Prime Minister John Key. Don't ever suggest working in a shop is a dead-end career, he said. By then he had invested in Joe's Garage in Arrowtown and had no shortage of applicants wanting to work in the cafe, but he was struggling to find good people to join his jewellery empire. Take his group diamond buyer at the time, Galina Hirtzel, he said, a girl from Invercargill who stated on $10 an hour. She was now (in 2009) flying round the world spending $100m of the company's money on diamonds every year. He thought her hippy long hair and floaty dress tricked merchants into not realising she was a tough negotiator. Knighted in 2011 for services to business and the arts, Hill was exhilarated by the company's growth and didn't mind talking it up, describing himself on one interview as 'the Ferrari of the jewellery business'. He was a businessman in the quick lane overtaking the rest of the jewellery world. At the same time he told business journalists he wanted 'controlled, sensible growth'. He and Lady Christine built a home on land that used to be a deer farm. Locals nicknamed it 'Hillbrook' and some took exception to the building, complaining it was too 'pink'. That caused the council to request a colour change; the Hills held firm. The 'terracotta' house later won the South Regional Architectural Award (for its colour scheme), a victory that used to make Hill chuckle. The Hills are a close family. Children Emma and Mark, and the four grandchildren, all live on the estate, with sculptures by Mark Hill among other artworks strategically placed through The Hills. Sculptor Mark Hill with his sculpture "Emergence", made from hand-forged corten steel, at The Hills Golf Club. He preferred to be low key and with the family when he was on holiday, often escaping Otago's winter to cruise in the Pacific on The Beast, his 40m adventure catamaran. In the summer The Beast's captain, Andy Grocott, who has worked for 'the boss' since 2006, would sail to remote places in New Zealand's Far North so the Hills could fish, swim, hike, dive and kayak. Jetskis were not their style. Sir Michael Hill and family preferred to explore remote places on The Beast. Photo / Michael Craig As tributes poured in this week, members of The Hills golf club penned their own. 'Rest peacefully Sir Michael,' it said at the end. 'You will forever be part of The Hills.' Beneath is one of the many cartoons he drew for his own and others' amusement. It shows an aviator clinging to a rocket as it zooms into space. Underneath Hill has signed off with the quote, 'Live every day as if it was going to be your last, for one day you're sure to be right.' Jane Phare is the New Zealand Herald's deputy print editor. Sign up to The Daily H, a free newsletter curated by our editors and delivered straight to your inbox every weekday.
